Vigil
by Mussimm
Summary: As people converge on Skyhold for the Inquisitor's wedding, a terrible crime threatens to shatter the fragile peace in Thedas. The inner circle races to find the culprit before mayhem breaks out in the isolated keep. Everyone has a motive. No one can be trusted. Passions flare, old wounds reopen and before the end someone may lose their head.
1. Chapter 1

After

"I propose..." Dorian wobbled to his feet, cup raised high in the air. He held the attention of the room for a moment before sighing dramatically. "A day of mourning."

"Sit down, sparkles," Varric tossed a morsel of his bread at the mage. "You're drunk."

The evening was muggy, summer reaching up into the mountains and relieving the frosts, and the last rays of sunshine shot through the gossamer leaves that crept around the window frames. The command hall had been repurposed, as it occasionally was, for the commanders to get drunk away from the prying eyes and ears of their subordinates. The air was full of music and laughter, and the chairs full of on-the-drunk-side-of-tipsy friends.

"We have to grieve," Dorian continued unperturbed. "In two days time the most handsome man in all Thedas is officially taken. He with the bluest eyes, the plumpest mouth, the most beautiful -"

"Dorian," Cassandra warned.

Sera smothered a peal of laughter into Varric's shoulder, face flushed pink. Blackwall hid his face in his hand.

"Hush now, you get him for all your days, let us have this night." He turned back to his adoring crowd. "Now as I was saying, he's simply the best looking of all of us and I suppose he's Andraste's chosen or something as well. Let's all raise a glass to Cassandra and Handsome Seamus!"

Cassandra offered Dorian her least amused smile and raised her glass.

She could not hold a grudge long, as Seamus' laughter rang out and he raised his own glass to toast, his bad arm resting at her back. She had indulged in one too many drinks herself, sharing hors d'oeuvres with Vivienne, who convinced her with every bite of cheese that another sip of wine would be the perfect complement.

It was rare enough to have everyone back at Skyhold, and in such good mood she didn't dare disturb it. She had been so focused on her work, as everyone had been on their own, that it felt strange to take a few days to just be happy. No one complained, no one begged off for the love of their cause. Their friends, their family, it seemed like everyone of note in Southern Thedas happily accepted the chance to take the time off. The world stood still as everyone converged on Skyhold to celebrate their wedding.

Seamus leaned into her, planting a kiss on her cheek, then let her go and stood covered her nose and mouth with her hand, attempting to hide from whatever drunken sentiments he was about to share. He was as flushed as the rest of them, as carefree and happy.

"Alright, if we're going to have speeches. Thank you, Dorian," he tipped his cup to the mage. Quiet descended over the room, as it always did when he spoke. "I want to thank you all. Not just for being here while we built this Inquisition or staying when things were tough. I have to thank you all for being here this week, as my friends, not my soldiers. It's easy to come together when we're facing a common threat. But this week there's no threat, we're here to enjoy what we fought to protect. This week we celebrate our victory, we celebrate the Inquisition, and we celebrate love."

"To victory," Varric raised his cup.

"To the Inquisition," Cullen chimed in.

Seamus smiled his stunning, inimitable smile and raised his glass, looking at Cassandra. "To my future wife. To Cassandra."

She burned with that feeling he so often inspired in her, somewhere between dying of embarrassment and wanting to drown herself in his sincerity.

"To Cassandra!" the others echoed, drunk and happy to toast to anything.

Seamus took up his seat next to her again and she buried her face in his shoulder, relaxing into his embrace. It wasn't her way to be the center of attention. He had suggested and arranged most of this. He wanted her to have her storybook romance, her perfect wedding. With anyone else it would have been impossible. With his hand always in her own, his reassurance, his confidence saw her through. With him she wasn't just brave enough to fulfill her girlish fantasy, she could enjoy it.

"Cass," he murmured into her hair.

"Yes, my love?" She looked up and took in his strained expression, his pallor.

"I think I need to leave."

She nodded. "I'll come with you."

They rose together, Seamus already offering his apologies as she shadowed him to the door. A chorus of wolf-whistles rose from their tipsy friends. She pulled his arm around her shoulders, trying to play off his tremor as one too many drinks. He was holding up. No one had noticed a problem yet.

Seamus made it to the stairs of the great hall before his knees gave out under him. Cassandra held his weight, keeping him from falling.

"Another step, my love," she said. It would be a long trip up those stairs if he couldn't bear his own weight.

The climb was longer than it should have been, Seamus having to pause or lean his weight against her every few steps, but she urged him up the stairs to his quarters. The agony on his face lanced her through.

"It's alright," he murmured as she lowered him onto his bed. "It's alright. I'm going to be -"

His own cry of pain cut him off. He clutched at his missing arm, curling in on himself. Cassandra left him to the bed and took the brown bottle from his bedside table, measuring out two drops. She took the pitcher of water and poured into a cup, weighing the amount on the scales.

"Just hold on."

"Any time now," he said, trying for a joking tone through the pain.

She judged the water and the medicine, double checked her measurements. "I'm trying not to poison you, dear."

"I'll take the poison. Stronger this time, please."

Cassandra eyed him for a moment, weighing his pain against the risk, then added a third drop to the mixture. She pressed the cup into his hand and helped him steady it as he drank. All the color had drained from his face, his usual healthy glow turned to sickly white. This state still struck terror into her, as it had from the moment his anchor had started hurting him. The offending arm was gone, yet these fits of pain persisted.

Seamus fell back against his pillows, face contorted in pain. Cassandra sat beside him and began running her fingers through his hair, giving him something to focus on as he came out of the shock. When the medicine took hold, his body relaxed visibly. He leaned into her touch.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Mm. Don't worry about me, the mages said it would get worse before it got better."

"How comforting."

Seamus smiled, turning his face into her hand. "The anchor's gone. It's not going to hurt me anymore. A year from now we won't remember the afterpains."

"We should postpone the wedding."

"Only if you want to tell all the people arriving tomorrow that they can turn around and go home."

"I will."

Seamus laughed, a real laugh that set her frayed nerves to rest. "I know you will. But please don't. I don't want to wait anymore."

He tugged at her, guiding her down beside him so he could wrap around her. She relaxed back into the bed, still stroking his hair. The bouts of pain hadn't been so bad at first when he lost the arm, just aches and twinges. The mages said his body was expelling the last of the bilious energy from the anchor and reasserting his own natural magic, that the process would be difficult but ultimately harmless. She prayed it would be over soon.

"I don't want you collapsing at the altar," she said.

"I won't. I promise."

She laughed into his shoulder. "You can't promise such a thing."

"I just did."

She playfully batted at his chest and moved to disentangle herself. It would be best to leave before his drugs turned him delirious and he started getting ideas. The poison gave his spirit urges that his body could not satisfy. In the end he would fall asleep and she would be the one left with energy to burn off and no outlet.

Too late. With fingertips he pushed aside the hem of her shirt and spread one warm hand over the small of her back. A shiver ran the length of her spine.

"No," she warned.

"Cassie," he whined.

"Goodnight, my love." She stood up and pulled her shirt back into place. A glance over her shoulder and despite his protest he was already dozing. She smiled to herself.

Just two more days.


	2. Chapter 2

Before

The hole in the sky was going to swallow them all.

Cassandra stared at it, eyes unfocused. The thought consumed her mind but didn't inspire the terror it should have. Shock. She recognised it, had felt it before and seen it in many others. There was nothing to be said. The temple was in splinters underneath the breach. The bodies of hundreds. The hopes of peace. The Divine. All broken and charred.

She still had her orders, her duties. There had been one survivor, a mage wielding some strange magic. He had to be questioned, and if guilty, executed. It was a crystalline thought in the middle of the fog. Cassandra's forces were retrieving him from the wreckage.

The hole in the sky was going to swallow them.

"We have to..." Leliana started, then trailed off.

A lump welled in Cassandra's throat again, hysteria threatening to overwhelm her for the dozenth time since the explosion. She swallowed it down. There would be time for grief and plenty of people to share it with her.

The train of soldiers coming down from the summit were too far away. Not yet near enough for her to see the man who killed the Divine. Might have killed the Divine. Why would he have done this? Was it as simple as a mage not wanting the rebellion to end? Or was he trying to end it, to restore himself to a comfortable circle instead of outlawry? Perhaps neither. With all of their enemies gathered in a single place how could she have let herself be delayed and leave the Divine vulnerable?

"I need to..." Leliana tried again. "My people will know something about... whoever he is..."

"Leliana," Cassandra felt that same weakness in her voice, mouth dry and throat not wanting to let the words creep through. "We have a few minutes. Compose yourself and find your people. I will deal with the mage."

Leliana took a deep breath, closing her eyes, then nodded.

Cullen approached and laid a hand on Cassandra's elbow. "Let's meet them. One of the cells is ready for him."

Cassandra rested a gloved hand on the hilt of her sword and followed him. If the mage gave them trouble she would destroy him and worry no more about his motivations.

They met the train of soldiers at the gates of Haven and Cassandra's heart sank when she saw the stretcher borne between two templars. If he was dead they would have no answers. She caught a shock of auburn hair and turned to Cullen before her brain entirely caught up to her eyes and she looked back at the man on the stretcher.

Of all the absurdities in the world, he was the most handsome man she had ever seen. Even in his tattered robes, face smeared with ash, eyes sunken with bodily trauma, there was no escaping that he looked like someone had painted him rather than birthed him. Thick hair that spilled about his face, soft lips and a strong jaw, broad in the shoulder and muscular in the arms. Cassandra's brain froze for a moment to process the surprise. She expected the monster who killed the Divine to be... she couldn't say. But it still felt like biting into an apple only to discover it was a tomato.

With a brilliant flare of green the man screamed, still unconscious, and his body thrashed on the stretcher. Cassandra raised her sword and stepped back, trying to identify the source of the light. "What is happening?"

"It's..." An elven mage ran forward from the ranks, attending to the man immediately. He was lean and spindly, carrying the same air as the Dalish elves, but without the facial tattoos. "We're not sure, I just need to get this under control. Please excuse me, Seeker."

He knelt beside the makeshift bedside and worked some magic, dragging the green flare back from the air about them like he was gathering up spiderwebs from a dusty corner. As he contained it the convulsing man calmed, sweating and trembling, but stabilising.

"What is that?" Cullen demanded.

"I'm not sure," the elven mage said, standing and facing them. "It's not coming from him, it seems to be some kind of parasitic magic. It will kill him if I don't contain it."

"Did it cause the explosion?" Cassandra asked.

"It's difficult to say. It may have caused the explosion, it may have been caused by the explosion. Or something else could be at work."

A grunt of frustration escaped Cassandra's mouth. "Put him in the cell. You, mage, stay with him. Get me answers and don't let him die. And put him in chains."

She turned, preparing to dismiss them with a wave, but Leliana approached with two elves in black hoods. Her spies. She took a look at the man on the stretcher and did the same double-take Cassandra had done.

A frown settled onto Leliana's face.

"You know this man?" Cassandra asked.

"I- No. It couldn't be him."

"If you know something, say it!" Cassandra advanced on her a step and Leliana raised an eyebrow. Cassandra took a breath and gentled her posture. It wouldn't do for the Divine's right and left hands to turn on each other.

"Is that medallion from the Ostwick Circle? I can't believe it." Leliana mused, ignoring the rebuke.

Cassandra deliberately calmed her tone. "Leliana, what do you know?"

"It was just a joke. There's a mage from Ostwick Circle they call Handsome Seamus. Lord Seamus Trevelyan, second son of a minor house. The women who went through there loved to talk about him. It was just a little light in this war. We needed it."

Cullen stepped in. "Please tell me since leaving the Circle he's been a war criminal or an assassin."

"Nothing of the sort. He's never done anything of note, good or bad. He's just handsome."

"Enough," Cassandra said. "This isn't the place. Get him inside. Two templar guards, day and night."

She waved the train forward and looked away from Leliana and Cullen. She did not have the strength to mesh Leliana's jokes with such a monstrous crime. It was easy, even for her, to think of the Divine as otherworldly. The idea that her murderer was someone with a home and a history left a bitter taste in her mouth. And if Leliana's spies had missed him concocting this plan because they had been too busy mooning over him she would have blood.

The train moved past her, a few dozen of the templars and duty-bound mages who had been at Haven when the disaster happened. Each side would blame the other. This war hadn't finished here, it may have just started anew.

"Lady Seeker?" A trembling voice broke her reverie, a young, haggard templar stepped out from the others. "I was there. When he stepped out. When the mage came out of the breach. I was there."

"Do you have something to tell me?"

The young man was pale and strained, struck with a fundamental terror. "Lady Seeker I saw him emerge, me and some of the others. We saw it. When he stepped out."

"Soldier, say what you came to say," she said.

He swallowed thickly, hands shaking, avoiding her eyes. "Lady Seeker, when the breach opened it wasn't just him. I saw it, me and the others. I saw Andraste help him out of there."

A chill struck her in the chest like a physical blow. He was earnest, this was no prank. She stood frozen, unable to decide if she should beg for his account of Andraste or box his ears for his blasphemy. It couldn't be true. Everyone who had ever claimed connection to Andraste had been a fraud. And if somehow the Maker had smiled on one person at the Conclave and decided to intervene he would surely have chosen the Divine, his most faithful servant.

The lump rose in her throat again. She had to get away from this place, anywhere she might think without something else happening to muddy the waters.

She set her jaw. "We will call you for testimony later. Rejoin the others."

The templar nodded and slunk back into line. She could not bear one more blow to her faith or her heart today. It was time to retreat, to take stock of what they knew and try to come up with a plan of action.

The hole in the sky still threatened.


	3. Chapter 3

After

"How much longer are we doing this?" Cullen murmured to Cassandra.

"Another decade or so, it seems." She had a fake smile plastered on her face, her eyes far away.

They stood in the full sunlight on the steps to the great hall. The courtyard swarmed with unfamiliar faces. Cullen, Josie, and an assortment of their intimates stood as the honour guard, giving some extra presence to the Inquisitor for the occasion. His armour was sweltering in the heat but Josie insisted that they all look their best for the cream of Southern Thedas, who were being introduced, one by interminable one, to the happy couple.

The only one who didn't seem to be feeling the heat was Seamus, turning diplomatic chatter into heartfelt sentiments with his guests. The Inquisitor wasn't in his best clothing, instead playing the barefoot prophet in modest attire. He always doted on Cassandra, but today he had the audacity to do it in public, holding her hand, pressing kisses on her cheeks and lavishing her with praise. While Cullen detested the Game he knew that Seamus was wise to play it. Many of the faces here had accused him of power seeking, warmongering, social climbing and plenty of other unpleasantness. It would be almost impossible to believe this humble, affectionate man had anything nefarious lurking behind the curtains.

"Is that the King of Ferelden?" Cassandra asked, eyebrow raised.

"He came himself?" Cullen said. He was surprised enough to miss the much bigger problem climbing the steps until it was almost on top of them.

The Champion of Kirkwall was as tall a woman as Cullen ever knew, and the hefty longbow she carried only gave her extra height. That suited, as she could never be in a room, or city, without making her presence as big and loud as possible. He had not missed Kirkwall. He might had mixed feelings about the Champion but he also had the absolute certainty of Cassandra's feelings about her. Feelings which would not be improved by the horde of brigands following them.

"Inquisitor!" Lorelai Hawke gave a sweeping bow, matched by the daringly dressed woman on her arm. "And Seeker Pentaghast, it is such a delight to see you again. We really should catch up more often."

"Lorelai," Seamus snatched up the bait by taking Hawke's hand in a firm grasp. "So glad you could make it. I don't think I've met..."

"Isabela! Isabela, meet Handsome Seamus. Seamus, this is my paramour, Isabela of Rivain, captain of the Siren's Call. And her crew, of course."

Seamus paused for a moment before processing that. "Always nice to have new friends at Skyhold. I'll look forward to getting to know you, Isabela."

Isabela laughed. "Oh, Lorelai, you were right about this one. Definitely worth knowing."

"A pity you won't be staying long, Lady Hawke," Cassandra said. "Your visits are always so short."

A weaker woman would have been turned to stone by Cassandra's gaze in that moment. Cullen smothered a laugh into a cough.

Lorelai clapped Cassandra on the shoulder, towering over her. "We'll catch up later, Seeker, I'll tell you all about the last few years, shall I?"

With that parting shot the group moved on. There was silence among them as a good two dozen people in scavenged clothing and glittering jewellery followed the pair. They carved a path right through the milling nobility, drawing eyes from all quarters.

"So," Seamus spoke up. "Those were pirates, right?"

"I'll have the silverware counted," Josephine said.

Without introduction a Grey Warden approached them, arms behind her back. She was slight, with the grim, gaunt look of all Grey Wardens, hair tied into a flawless braid, uniform pressed and gleaming.

No one moved to introduce her. Josephine scanned her list of guests, caught off guard but a twinge of familiarity hit Cullen. There was just something about her. In the line of the nose or the colour of her eyes. As she stood silently before the Inquisitor, assessing him, it hit him.

"Teddy?" he blurted out. The others turned to look at him and he coughed, composing himself. "Uh, Your Worship, may I introduce Warden Commander Theodora Amell, Hero of Ferelden."

"Warden Commander," Seamus said, surprise evident in his voice. "It's a pleasure, I know you rarely find time for social engagements."

Cullen couldn't believe it. He remembered a pimply-faced teenager with an irascible grin, always getting him into trouble. And the flirting. She had been incorrigible. It was surreal to see her fully grown, a Grey Warden, and the distant, distracted look in her eyes. She looked right through the Inquisitor, even as she spoke to him.

"Your Worship," she said, bowing stiffly. "Lady Pentaghast."

"It is an honour to have you among us," Cassandra said. "I hope you will favour us with tales of the Blight, when we have the chance."

"Mm," Theodora hummed noncommittally and bowed again. "Cullen, good to see you."

"Ah, yes," he said, tongue-tied. "I... It's been a long time. We should... It's good to see you, Theodora."

She politely ignored his ramble and drifted away from them, eyes still somewhere else. He watched her go for a moment too long and didn't notice that all eyes were on him until he turned back. He must have turned beet red at their gaze. Even Cassandra was suppressing a grin.

"What?"

"Did you just call the Hero of Ferelden 'Teddy'?" Seamus asked.

"It's– I knew her as a girl, of course I–" He cut himself off before her could embarrass himself further. That crush had been fifteen years ago. He was not still hung up on her. If the others thought he was then they could just think that.

"Did you invite her?"

"I didn't think she'd come! It was a courtesy."

At least there was a little real laughter to go about, even if it was at his expense. They needed something to tide them over through the afternoon. Despite his thoughts earlier Seamus was starting to look a little worn and favouring one side. Cassandra was edging closer to him, as though she expected him to drop at any second.

Cassandra nudged his shoulder. "I think you are needed elsewhere, Commander."

She nodded to the crowd and he followed her gaze. His blush was forgotten in an instant and he grinned. Making his apologies he hastened down the stairs and into the crowd, hoping to catch her unawares.

It was a touch childish, but he managed to sneak up and wrap his sister in a hug before she knew what hit her. She let out a little yelp of surprise before wrapping her arms around him and squeezing, laughing into the fur of his collar.

Mia stood a head shorter than him, her gold hair now streaked with grey and her best dress just a flowered frock in a sea of silk and samite. But her smile was the same, broad and warm. "You scared me, Cullen."

"I'm glad you made it. I was hoping. The others?"

She shook her head. "Branson's wife is expecting any day now, and Rosie just took her orders. But I brought... Lewyn! Come greet your uncle!"

She beckoned to a boy of about ten, who looked like a rabbit in a cage, wide eyed and confused. It was all a lot to take in for an adult, Cullen couldn't imagine how the poor boy must have been feeling. He hadn't ever met the boy in person, only hearing of him in letters.

"Lewyn, is it?" He bent down to meet him face-to-face. "I'm Cullen, your father's brother."

"G-good afternoon, sir," the boy said.

"Don't mind him, he's shy on a good day," Mia said. "Oh, but look at my little brother. Leader of the Inquisition's forces and don't you look handsome. We hoped to greet the Inquisitor and his lady, give them our best."

Cullen laughed. "You will, but have mercy, they've half the Orlesian court to greet today. I'll have you sit near me at the welcome feast, you can meet him then."

He glanced back at the party and saw the same scene he had been part of. He had just missed Leliana's arrival with a gaggle of Revered Mothers. Some of the strain was out of Cassandra but the Inquisitor was paler than before, a casual arm around Cassandra's shoulders that might have been affectionate but also might have been for support.

He shook his head. It wasn't time to worry about that, no one on the podium would allow Seamus to get heat sick, even for the sake of appearances. He turned back to his sister and nephew. He hadn't seen her in years and had time to make up for.

"Come on, let's get out of this heat."


	4. Chapter 4

Before  
-

Haven was silent. Everyone there moved as if in a dream, their work and their leisure conducted in the shadow of the tragedy that had not passed yet, and under the gaze of the breach.

Or perhaps it was that there was little action to be taken. The mages worked furiously on any solution to the breach and came up empty. Solas kept Trevelyan alive, barely, but no closer to waking. They all held their breath to see if the next development would be a breakthrough from their side or another strike from beyond the veil.

Cullen kept himself busy fighting demons that sprung from the rifts. Leliana had her spies, a network she was wringing for answers. But Cassandra had little to occupy herself. No one to interrogate, no spies to consult or forces to command. Just the hollow grief of losing Justinia and another handful of witnesses claiming to have seen Andraste.

She had faith, she had always been Andrastian, but she had never been challenged to take that faith so literally before. One of the central tenets of the Chant was that the Maker had abandoned them. He had only ever in their history favoured one soul with his presence. One. Andraste herself. His beloved, his wife. It beggared belief to think she had the second ever favoured soul locked in a dungeon.

She had always imagined the Maker's influence, if it was felt at all, to be a gentle nudge of feelings or thoughts to guide them on his desired path. Not sending his wife to hurl an entire man into a crowd of witnesses.

If it was true then the man in question, this man, was something special. If it was untrue then the same man was unique in a far worse way. Which made it all the more frustrating that her every line of questioning led back to only one answer: he was no one. He had done nothing. No one of note noted him.

"What do we know about the Ostwick Circle?" she asked Leliana, leaning over their great war map.

Leliana shrugged. "It was a nice place, from what I've heard. A lot of nobility so it was well stocked and funded and the templars were wary of causing a political incident."

"And when they rebelled?"

"With more a whimper than a bang. Their templars were called to the annulment of the Starkhaven Circle. The mages weren't even left a caretaking force, so they left."

"And the Trevelyans?"

Leliana dandled a dagger between her fingertips, looking over the map. She studied it for a while, then looked up. "You won't find answers in his past, no matter how many ways you ask the question."

"He can't have been nothing until this happened. There must be something."

"Ninety-nine times out of a hundred if my spies know nothing about someone, there's nothing to know."

"Then let us assume this is the hundredth time."

Leliana sighed. "I know it would be convenient if he were a monster and we had finally caught him, but we both know that convenience and truth are rarely bedfellows."

Cassandra clenched her fist. There had to be answers. This was all too messy, too unfair. The Divine didn't die by chance. The Maker didn't abandon her for a random stranger. It couldn't be. "How can you be so calm about this? Justinia is dead!"

Something dark passed over Leliana's face. "And someone will answer for that. You and I will make sure of it. The right person will pay for it, not the first person we get our hands on. Even you are not sure of his guilt."

"It's not his guilt I want." She closed her eyes. His guilt would do, if it came to it. What she really wanted was too much to ask for, had to be walled off in her heart along with every other mad impulse Justinia's death had inspired.

It would be so easy, in her grief, to look for a narrative order to things. If this were a play or a book it would only make sense that the most faithful servant of the Maker had been overlooked for someone even more precious. That sitting in her cell was the second Andraste, here to bring order back to a war torn world. It was a treacherous idea that glowed gold inside her. The beautiful stranger bringing blessings from beyond the fade, the champion they so desperately needed. She swallowed the idea even as it rose in her like a cresting wave.

An idea for a romance novel, not a murder investigation. She could not forgive herself if tenderness of the heart led her to make a mistake in this.

"Solas thinks he will live," Leliana said. She idly stroked the blade of her dagger. "You'll get your chance to question him."

"What if nothing comes of it?"

"If anyone can get answers from him, it's you."

Cassandra let out a bitter laugh. "I couldn't break Varric Tethras. Outwitted by a novelist."

"Varric is a clever man with little to lose. No one could have found Hawke, Cassandra."

"But if I had..." She didn't let the thought slip out. Wallowing was no better than fantasising. Varric was one of very few who hadn't spilled their secrets to her. And she hadn't been motivated by Most Holy's death at the time.

She would break this man like a pane of glass if he tested her.

A knock at the door saw them stand up straight. Josephine Montilyet edged the door open, face half worry and half relief. Cassandra knew what he was about to say before she said it. Finally, something was happening.

"He's awake," she said.

"Is he chained?" Cassandra brushed past her, already walking to the cells.

"Yes. He's a little disoriented. Solas says he shouldn't be distressed him if you want him cogent."

"I don't care what Solas says." She pushed the door to the dungeon open, ignoring the guards at attention.

Daylight shot through the bars, casting sharp shadows and making the light flicker as they walked. The other cells were empty. At the end of the hall she saw him, hands bound, on his knees with head bowed, long hair covering his face. It was a good position. Vulnerable. Hers for the taking.

She unlocked the door and circled around him, eyes on the walls, letting him stew. She looked down just as he looked up, caught by the bluest eyes she had ever seen. She had been wrong before. He hadn't been handsome at all in his rest. Now he was showing her where he got his nickname. It enraged her.

"Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now," she demanded. "The conclave is destroyed, everyone who attended dead. Except for you."

He looked lost, forlorn. An act she'd seen a dozen times. "You think I did something."

"You didn't? Then explain this." She grabbed him by the hand, forcing his big hand open and exposing the eerie flare of green light in his palm. He jerked back from the light, holding his arm extended, eyes locked on the strange magic.

"I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?"

"I don't know what that is or how it got there," his voice rose.

"You're lying!" He shouldn't have tested her. All those people dead, the Divine dead, and he had the audacity to play dumb. Innocent or guilty he couldn't know nothing. He had been at the Conclave, he was there the moment of the explosion.

She struck out, but Leliana got to her first, diverting her arm to make the blow go wide.

"We need him, Cassandra," Leliana reminded her.

Their eyes met for a long moment. This was her interrogation, she wouldn't be undermined. Her anger was both justified and necessary.

"Are they all dead?" Seamus Trevelyan brought their attention back to him, eyes soft and pleading. "Everyone at the Conclave? How could that happen?"

Cassandra crossed her arms, pacing in front of him. It was possible, not likely, but possible, that the explosion had addled him enough to forget. She didn't believe it, but there was room to manoeuvre.

"What do you remember?"

He shook his head and furrowed his brow, his words coming in short bursts. "I remember running. Things were chasing me and then... a woman? A woman reached out to me."

Cassandra locked eyes with him. This man was a charlatan. The story was too coordinated, his innocence played too perfectly, his eyes too blue. He had to be lying. He had to be.

But that treacherous golden idea glowed bright. Even if her every instinct told her that he was lying there was some chance, however remote, that he was not.


	5. Chapter 5

After

All things considered, Josephine couldn't have planned better propaganda for the Inquisition if she had tried. The transition into the Divine's honour guard was a somewhat difficult time and she would leave them once it was complete, but this wedding had been a stroke of luck. All interested parties were witness to them dismantling their forces, they all got to stare at their Inquisitor to their heart's content and a wedding's festivities put everyone at ease.

The welcome banquet was a sight to behold. Duke Gaspard was drinking heavily with Lady Hawke. Grand Enchanter Fiona chatted pleasantly with Vivienne. The Warden Commander and Morrigan shared a silent meal. All parties, interested, wounded and uplifted were present and accounted for, and all were at least docile if not happy. It was perfect.

Thank the Maker those two had fallen in love.

The grand hall was full of music and talk and down the stairs in the yard the household staff of a hundred nobles had their own feast. She had spared no expense. It was no Winter Palace but the Great Hall was filled with tables covered in shot silver cloths, candles burning brightly, good wine flowing. A last hurrah for the intact Inquisition before they began to reduce.

The only blemish on the night was the obvious, growing discomfort of the bridegroom. It had to be his arm, she had decided early in the night. He was keeping details sparse, even with her, but it continued to trouble him. He found the energy to gaze lovingly at his future wife but little more.

Josephine had her own seat at the banquet but barely saw it, instead making the rounds. She politely excused herself from the company of the Nevarran ambassador, a distant cousin to Cassandra, and made her way to the high table.

She leaned over the Inquisitor's shoulder. "Your Worship, I appreciate you putting on a brave face but you may be doing more harm than good at this point."

"Is it that obvious?" he asked.

"I'm afraid so. I can make your excuses. You should take rest, tomorrow will be eventful."

Seamus cast about the room for a moment, then nodded and began to rise. Cassandra rose with him but he laid a hand on her arm. "Stay, love. One of us should be here. I just need sleep."

Cassandra frowned, but sat down again. The Inquisitor kissed Cassandra goodnight, rather scandalously if Josephine's opinion was known, before allowing himself to be led to the staircase. It took a few assurances that she had everything under control, but soon she was back to circulating.

It was only too easy to sell the love story to the adoring nobles. Most wanted to believe it anyway and so lapped up her exaggerated tales of a romance she had barely seen. It was too easy to spin. A forbidden love, certain death, gods, dragons, magisters, forces working to pull them apart. Varric would be writing the novelisation.

She glanced around, taking some note of those still there and who had slipped away for some backroom dealing. The Warden Commander and Morrigan were gone. They were old friends, she thought she had heard. Or perhaps old enemies. Hawke, Gaspard and Varric were also missing, hopefully they had taken their drinking games to the rowdier party outside.

She found King Alistair being bored to death by Arl Teagan, his mind clearly a thousand miles from the conversation. She murmured to a servant to refill the king's drink, then approached him and bowed.

"Your Majesty, how good of you to attend in person."

The king looked up at her. "Nothing like a bracing ride up the Frostbacks to get the blood pumping. Ambassador Montilyet, isn't it?"

"May I sit?"

The king looked at the chair beside him as though seeing it for the first time. He hastily pulled it out for her. "Of course, excuse my manners. King of the land of dogs, I am. Do you know Arl Teagan?"

Josephine met eyes with the Arl, pretending to ignore his expression. "We've met."

"Yes, please excuse me, Your Majesty, Ambassador." The Arl stood and walked away without waiting for his king's permission.

King Alistair was famous for being difficult to ruffle and easy to please. She hardly needed to pay him a visit at all but it still seemed rude to ignore visiting royalty. He was handsome, young and unmarried. It was a small miracle. Kings were the highest prizes for social climbers, he must have been constant quarry in the Fereldan court.

"I would have thought to find you with the Warden Commander. It is surprising to see her make a public appearance."

The King's eyes shot straight to the Commander. He had known where she was and decided not to go to her. Interesting.

"Ah, yes. We don't really have many happy memories to reminisce about. Blight and all that."

"War is always less glorious than we imagine it to be."

"It was very dull, really." He took a sip from his cup. "Lots of camping. If there hadn't been any darkspawn it would have just been a very average holiday. I hear your war at least had a few dragons to slay."

Josie laughed. "It's true, The Inquisitor and Lady Cassandra slew many of the beasts together."

"How romantic."

She leaned in conspiratorially and pointed to Cassandra. "Do you see her sword?"

"A little." It was obscured where she sat but a flash of white was still visible. It mattered little, that was not the point of her story.

"The Inquisitor had it made for her from the bones of the first dragon they slew. He presented it to her as a symbol of his devotion. She says that was the moment she knew she loved him." That was not entirely true, but also not entirely untrue. Cassandra would never confess such a thing but it had been hard to miss.

Alistair laughed into his cup. He had a handsome smile. "So Trevelyan knows how to woo the ladies. Well good for him. I half want to marry him just hearing about it."

"There is no future queen in your sights?"

"Ah, no. I suppose there should be, but no."

"There are many people here tonight. Would you fancy a Nevarran bride?"

"I don't know, I've sort of got my sights set on the Inquisitor now."

Josephine was unfortunate enough to be taking a sip of wine as he said this and had to spit it back into the glass to keep from snorting it out her nose. It was easy to see why people liked him. He offered her an apologetic look for her sudden state.

She took a breath to stop the laughter bubbling up in her throat, and when she could speak again she said, "Well you have twelve hours to sweep him off his feet."

"A tough job, I'll give you that. But I might instead excuse myself. You have a chantry here, I've heard? Seems right to pray for them the day before their wedding."

"In the gardens. Let me escort you."

"No, no. I couldn't impose," he said as he rose to his feet. "I'm sure you have your work cut out for you tonight."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," she said, bowing her head and letting him slip into the crowd.

It was hard not to measure the rest of her conversations against that one. She found her eyes glazed over as dukes and thanes talked of the food and the social season. She picked up the occasional bit of gossip and entertained herself watching Cassandra get equally bored until Vivienne chased off the offending parties and took Seamus' vacated seat.

She would miss these people terribly when she went back to Antiva. Sad how things must come to an end, but even if she stayed most of them would move on. Their formation had been a true blessing, for her and for all of them.

Josephine was startled back to the present when the lord she was talking to was suddenly overcome by a look of alarm. She followed his gaze and saw what had caught his attention. Cullen. Cullen making a beeline for Cassandra, his face white and eyes hard. Something had happened. A sharp lance of fear shot through her.

She made as much haste as she could without making a scene. Cullen's hand rested tense on the pommel of his sword. Any number of disasters might have befallen them at such a politically volatile event. Knowing her luck some Orlesians had started duelling over their wine preferences. But he looked far too serious for it to be about their guests.

She intercepted him just before he reached Cassandra, who rose to meet him.

"Josie, call the healers," he ordered without preamble. "Don't arouse suspicion. And tell my men to be at the ready. Cassandra..."

"What has happened?" Cassandra asked.

"It's Seamus. I think he's been poisoned."


End file.
